A Use for Old Christmas Cards
by The Manwell
Summary: Heero experiences a month of weirdness following one spontaneous act. Post-series. Language, shounen ai, FLUFF, Heero POV, OOC, my wacko sense of humor. (Complete)


**Author's Note:** Ooookay, I have _no_ idea where this thing came from. I kinda can't believe I actually wrote it. I mean... it's _fluffy._ (shudders) But, on the plus side, I've been told it's amusing.

**A Use for Old Christmas Cards  
**A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction by The Manwell

It all started exactly one month ago.

And what, you might ask, is "it"? Um, yeah, I'm still trying to figure that out, myself.

I know; I know... already this story is sounding like a dud, but stick with me for a few more paragraphs and we'll see if it gets any more interesting. In fact, it's probably a bad idea for me to be scribbling this down (on the backs of old Christmas cards, no less) after the amount of alcohol I've had this evening but... well, what _else_ are you supposed to use old Christmas cards for? I've never really been clear on that. I mean, is it rude to throw them away? But who's going to know in the event that you do? I've never had any friends who'd asked after the health of their Christmas cards the following March... Actually, I've never had that many friends at all. And all of them know better than to send me a card for a holiday I don't celebrate.

I pause and flip open the glittery pre-articulated happy greeting card and note Une's signature. Ah, so this is what this year's cards from the administration look like. Yeah, as you can probably guess, I usually don't bother to read them. I wouldn't – normally – bother to open them. But then, that would be Duo's fault. He'd seen the small pile of festively-colored envelopes on the kitchen table and had declared I should prop them up along the mantle over my apartment's finicky gas fireplace. I'd snorted. (Translation: _Okay, whatever, Duo._) So he'd opened them for me and... decorated my living room. Yet another example of the Maxwell's mysterious and bizarre nesting habits...

But I digress... I think. I mean, I'm not sure where I'd been going with this in the first place but – oh, yes: I remember. One month ago, right? "It," right? Okay, then.

...ooo...

Another Valentine's Day. Yippee.

But seriously, I had plans. Well, Duo and I had plans involving a seemingly endless supply of Sapporo (for me) and Killians (for him), some edamame, cheese popcorn, and a slew of crappy, low-budget horror flicks.

Despite (or, debatably, because of) the day, I was laughing at Duo's running commentary, snorting beer over one of his bedraggled throw pillows. Then he was threatening to sic a radioactive alien frog on me if I didn't buy him a new one because sure as God made little green apples, beer that had frolicked in my sinuses was _not_ going to be dry-cleanable. Does it make me a sick, pathetic person if I say this was the best time I could ever remember having?

It was right after that when it happened. I looked up through watery eyes, my cheeks and sides aching with mirth, and was hit with the full force of... something. I'm not even sure what it _was_ exactly. His smile? His energy? His friendship? God, I have no clue. But I looked at him and suddenly I could see it... Us. I could see us. Together. It was like a second pair of eyelids I'd never realized I possessed had blinked open and I could marvel at the potential for what we might come to mean for each other. I was breathless. I was floored. I was... damn near drooling beer on the stupid throw pillow.

Not many people would have a life-evolving epiphany in the middle of Radioactive Frogs from Mars, but then, I've never been a conventional sort of guy.

So what was I supposed to do then? I mean, after the glow of it had done its sparkling floorshow routine and I floated back down to Duo's couch with psychedelic green light from the TV reflecting off of our eyes?

I did what anyone whose brain had just turned to mush would do.

I kissed him.

It, ah, could have been better, sure. He could have participated. But then, I could have had better timing. On the plus side, he didn't murder me.

Duo just looked at me, expression blank and said my name in that tone of his. That I'm-not-100-sure-I-know-what-just-happened-here-but-when-I-figure-it-out-I-reserve-the-right-to-kick-your-ass tone. I wouldn't be surprised if you've never heard it; he doesn't use it very often.

So, basically, I'd just fucked myself but good.

I, um, I'm not _exactly_ sure what I mumbled after that. Something. I guess. I just let the giant frogs on the TV screen chase me out of the room. The next thing I knew, I was back at my place, staring at a blank television and wonder what the fuck had been in my beer. I wasn't drunk and I hadn't _been_ drunk, either. I had no excuse for why I'd just kissed one of my closest friends.

I was a moron.

I deserved to eat shit and die.

It would taste really bad, but at least I wouldn't have to face him at the office tomorrow.

I was starting to wonder if people really _could_ die from eating shit – at least shit that hadn't been pooped out of some sort of radioactive freak amphibian – when someone knocked on my door.

Maybe they'd know the answer to my question.

I yanked open the door and there stood Duo. Just... looking at me. Again.

I was feeling a little off-balance. That's my defense for allowing these words to pop out of my mouth: "If you came over here to stare at me some more, I'll just give you a photo and be done with it."

He blinked at me and then offered up a sarcastic smile. "Can I get it signed?"

I choked back a bark of laughter. I could feel Hysteria pulling on my sleeve and sidling toward the Flaming Death rollercoaster ride. Nope. So not going there.

"So..." Duo began again, still braced on the threshold, "Was there a reason for why you took off after declaring your undying non-hate?"

What? "What?" I am _so_ original.

He sighed. "I think you muttered something about frogs and goat cheese and never being able to hate me."

This was news to me. "Uh, really?"

His eyes narrowed and I found myself fidgeting. But just a little.

"Heero," he said, "why did you kiss me?"

Er, why had I? Because I'd experienced a brief glimpse of a reality in which we were lovers and were blissfully happy on top of that? Oh, shit. I'd actually bought into a Happily Ever After. Proof positive that I was suffering from some sort of malignant brain disorder. I told him, "Um..."

He shook his head, ran a hand through his bangs, and looked at me again. With a heavy sigh, he said flatly, "Shit man, you gave me a kiss on Valentine's Day."

It would have been nice if he'd sounded a little happier about it.

He continued with a dark glower, "So now I'm gonna have to reciprocate on White Day. Fuck!"

He's such a romantic. Not many people would know it look at him, though. Totally in the closet, this one.

He looked disgruntled and sexy and I wanted to kiss him again but I figured he'd kill me if I upped his debt to two kisses instead of just that single crappy one.

"Argh," he articulated, clearly not happy with me at _all_. "Perfect. Just great." He pointed a single, sexy finger at me. "I hope you're happy." And with that he'd walked away.

I felt kind of bad for ruining our Valentine's Day. And I felt even worse for possibly ruining our partnership at work. I just about wanted to toss myself off the roof of the apartment complex when I contemplated all the negative effects this could have on our friendship.

Yup. Moron.

But I was looking forward to White Day now and _that_ was a genuine first for me.

So I was both relieved and disappointed when I went in to work the next day and Duo acted like he always had, joked like he always did, and poked me in the back of the head to get my attention as usual. His easy-going manner kind of got me thinking that maybe... just maybe he hadn't really minded my kissing him as badly as he'd let on. Maybe he was just trying to get back at me for shocking _him_ for once.

But, then again, maybe not.

If his gaze ever lingered in my direction, I didn't feel it. If he ever looked at me with a desirous, predatory gleam in his eyes, I didn't catch it. In fact, as the month of days ticked away I was winding tighter and tighter until I thought the next person who asked to cut in ahead of me in line for the copy machine would get run through with a spare ink cartridge. No easy feat, that.

A month. An entire month of Duo pretending I'd never kissed him. And entire month of me wondering if he was going to kiss me back. An entire, eternal month of... waiting.

Sounds supremely stupid, doesn't it? An entire month of waiting to be kissed... or to _not_ be kissed. I didn't know what to do. Didn't know if I should even bring it up. Should I apologize? That damn Happily Ever After was still blowing raspberries at me from the edge of my field of vision so I couldn't really offer any sincerity to an apology.

And then it was March fourteenth. White Day.

Oh... shit.

So, I bought beer. Sapporo for me and Killians for him. I bought edamame and cheese popcorn. I rented the dumbest-sounding movies with the worst cover art possible and sat down on my couch and waited. I didn't even know if he'd come over. He hadn't said anything to me about it at all. Had he forgotten? Could I be that lucky?

But the imagined feel of his lips against mine had me bringing my fingertips up to trace my mouth.

God. Could I be anymore pathetic?

Well, not sober, that's for damn sure.

So, Duo or no Duo, I started in on the Sapporo.

And then, after an hour, I started writing on the backs of this last season's Christmas cards.

...ooo...

So, that pretty much brings you up to speed, doesn't it? I don't really have to go into any more detail than that do I? We'll not talk about the sleepless nights and the death glares at the copy machine and the pleading gazes I directed at Duo's back at every available opportunity. Nope. Not talking about those at all.

I set my pen down and flex my hand. It's started to cramp from trying to write so damn small but I'm almost out of room here. I eye all five cards spread out over the coffee table with a weary sort of foreboding doom. Any chance I might have had to pull myself up by the bootstraps and shake off this stupid fantasy has been beaten off by my singular obsession with reliving the whole, pathetic incident.

On Christmas cards, no less.

Seasons greetings from Une, Relena, Noin, Sally, and Sylvia Noventa all pay homage to a life that's been turned upside down by an evening spent mocking extraterrestrial, nuclear amphibians with the most amazing man I've ever met.

I have I used the word "pathetic" too often yet? Maybe I can squeeze it in here a few more times? Yes, there's just enough room for...

I almost snap my pen in half when someone knocks on my door.

Can people die of anxiety? Is it possible for your blood to get confused about which direction it's supposed to be going? Is that what causes burst arteries and apoplexy?

But I open the door anyway. I mean, did you doubt that I would?

Once again, Duo stands on my threshold looking sexy. But he doesn't look irritated this time. In fact, he's smiling at me and it's one of his _nice_ smiles. Not one of his Spanish Inquisition ones.

"You know, Heero," he begins, glancing down at the carpet presumably to collect his thoughts. And maybe to check me out. Hey, I can hope can't I? "This last month gave me some time to think about it and..."

And? I feel my brows hitch upward in an obvious inquiry but he doesn't say anything. I draw in a breath. I intend to use it for speaking. But then Duo looks up at me and I find myself using it for something else instead.

Here, standing in my doorway in front of God, the neighbors, and Mrs. Sanderson's Pekinese, Duo kisses me.

Wow.

There are lips and tongue and teeth... and his hands hold my face at the perfect angle for all of it. I'm kind of dazed when he leans away. Through the warm, fuzzy pleasantness, I get the impression that he's waiting for a reaction.

Ah, well. I can't let him down now, can I?

"Yours was better than mine," I admit between shallow pants.

His watchful expression melts away. He gives me that crooked grin of his and replies, "Well, aren't you lucky that I'm going to give you a chance to make that up to me?"

"I'm not going to have to wait another damn month am I?" Clearly, I've got my priorities straight.

He chuckles. "No. But I would like to at least make it to the couch."

A man of high standards. I like that.

We do end up making it to the couch... after a couple of, er, "rest stops" along the way. And we do end up enjoying the comforts of said couch for a good, long time. And after that, Duo picks up my Christmas cards and reads my assortment of scribbles. He makes fun of me for ogling him behind his back and I kick him... as nicely as possible of course.

"You know," he tells me thoughtfully. "You've still got a little room left on this one."

I eye the space he's pointing to and smile. I reach across the gulf between the couch and the coffee table and scoop up my abandoned pen. Feeling rather magnanimous at the moment, I hold it out to him and direct, "You finish it then."

And I can't help it when the words he chooses strike me as weirdly ironic. I mean, after all of this, who wouldn't laugh at the messy scrawl Duo places under my meandering, hopeless rant:

"And they lived happily ever after."

Yup. That Maxwell is most certainly a romantic.

The End! (Thank God.)


End file.
